If I Had to Keep You
by KLMeri
Summary: Leonard is not enthusiastic about his new roommate. Jim, on the other hand, is ecstatic. Or maybe manic, which is more than slightly disturbing to Leonard. That, along with a little PTSD, concerned friends, late-night confessions and an unusual pet put McCoy and Kirk on the road to recovery in the aftermath of Marcus and Khan. - COMPLETE
1. Part One

**Title**: If I Had to Keep You  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek AOS, Into Darkness  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Characters**: Kirk, McCoy  
**Word Count**: ~19,200  
**Summary**: Leonard is not enthusiastic about his new roommate. Jim, on the other hand, is ecstatic. Or maybe manic, which is more than slightly disturbing to Leonard. That, along with a little PTSD, concerned friends, late-night confessions and an unusual pet put McCoy and Kirk on the road to recovery in the aftermath of Marcus and Khan.  
**A/N**: Based on prompt for Regeneration Challenge: _Roommate fic! Maybe Jim and Bones were roommates back at the Academy and now they're sharing quarters again while HQ undergoes repairs, figuring out how they've changed as people since the early days; or maybe they actually never lived together so now they're getting into all the usual freshman fights over space, noise, messiness, food, etc._  
Well, this seemed like something I could do. Be warned: there's talk of post-_Into Darkness_ and a lot of ridiculousness that should be serious but isn't.

Dedicated to **hora_tio** who believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself.

* * *

In his dream, he stands before a window at the end of a long hallway, looking down at a familiar stretch of ground. He recalls how busy the park had been not long ago, a crowd too big to count because everyone knew someone who'd died and had wanted to be at the memorial service. Now, though, the lawn lay like a faded green carpet, sprinkled with thousands of white dots. The fading sun obscures what the dots really are but it is an easy guess they must mark the graves.

Something clatters behind him. When he turns around, the darkness is perfectly still. He faces the window again and searches for its latch, thinking it's better to be down there than up here, waiting for whatever lives within that darkness to reach him.

The window latch gives way the moment the hallway groans. The walls shiver, and a loud _thump-thumpthump-thump_ begins. The window, his only escape, melts away in a stream, which turns into unpleasantly bright light as a confused and heavy-limbed Leonard McCoy blinks awake in the late afternoon of his two-bedroom apartment. His confusion clears somewhat when he recognizes the thumping isn't an echo in his head but a real sound. Distantly, someone is knocking upon a door.

He sits up with a muttered "Christ" and brushes a hand against his hair.

Eventually the knocking finds a new rhythm, an insistent one. Leonard shakes off the last of his sleepiness as he realizes the insistence exists for a reason: the knocker is at _his_ door.

A quick shuffle around the bedroom and a stubbed toe later, he dons a pair of pants and a robe found upon the floor. "Hold on!" the call echoes ahead of his clumsy progress across the apartment. "Just.. hold on a sec, would ya!"

What idiot is bothering him in the middle of a post-hectic-hospital-schedule nap? What idiot is so old-fashioned to forgo the built-in buzzer, the kind of thing Leonard's _conditioned_ to wake up to, and apply knuckles to an unfriendly durasteel door? Better yet, what idiot thinks he has the right—

"Oh, that _idiot_," Leonard says upon dragging open the door.

The idiot in question, hugging a sagging cardboard box to his chest, flashes a grin that might be perceived as winsome by some but is too close to chipper for Leonard, who really wants to put every fresh chipper face he sees early in the morning (or post-nap) through the worst sort of punishment. Chipper-ness in any form goes against the grain of his natural pessimistic life view.

It's no surprise, under Leonard's frowning stare, the idiot looks more pleased with himself than he does with Leonard for answering the door.

Leonard's eyes close of their own accord, and he automatically massages the bridge of his nose to ease some of the more violent urges he's experiencing. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Most of us thrive in the daylight, Bones."

Leonard opens his eyes to give Jim Kirk a look but his gaze falls to the box and gets stuck there. "What's—oh no, _hell no_," he says all at once, feeling a flicker of panic spark beneath his breastbone. "What happened to the plan?"

"Fell through."

Shit, shit, and double shit.

"Booones..." Jim drags out the nickname, shifting his weight with increasing impatience.

Leonard shakes his head vehemently. "Look, I'm sorry but this is just... not happening. We tried before, Jim, remember? Never again. Never, ever, _ever_." He couldn't stress that point enough as far as the matter is concerned.

It is very unfortunate for Leonard that Jim has always been an exceptionally quick thinker. One boot wedged into the right spot, and the apartment door is flummoxed, its gears whining pathetically as it slides back and forth, back and forth. In the end, it relents to Jim's interference and not Leonard's vicious jabs at the command button to _close, close, damn it, close right now!_

"I'm coming in," Jim announces as if the matter has already been decided. He presses forward, wielding the pointy edges of the cardboard box like a weapon so that Leonard has no option but to retreat.

The first moment he can Leonard shoves the box away from his tender midsection. "Did you hear what I said? We're not doing this."

Jim drops his effects onto the nearest tabletop with the ignorance of the hearing-impaired. Leonard resists the urge to grab at his hair in frustration... or better yet at Jim's. It is a damn shame, he thinks, that Jim has buzzed his hair so short, or Leonard would take two big handfuls and _yank_. How satisfying would that be?

Maybe Jim sees something of Leonard's imaginings. He puts an extra arm's length between them before saying, "If memory serves me correctly, Bones, last time included an ultimatum: we could be roommates or friends but not both. Clearly I picked wrong." His eyes and his arms open dramatically wide. "Let's be roommates!"

"Kid," Leonard begins, studying the slightly manic expression on Kirk's face, "that was five years ago—and I'm pretty sure the unspoken choice there was either you graciously accept being kicked out, or I kill you."

Kirk's arms drop back to his sides, and Leonard is given another winsome grin. Then Jim darts in to his side, quick and wily, claps Leonard on the shoulder before darting away again. In the next second Jim is headed to the adjoining living room with his head held high. And he's talking: "It's all good. We're commanding officers now, not cadets. I'm more mature, you're more mature, so surely we can—_oooh fish_."

Leonard huffs out a sigh, suddenly feeling less disgruntled than he should be, and trails after his friend. "Don't touch those," he warns.

Jim pauses, caught in the act of removing the fish tank's top cover, and reluctantly eases it back into place. Afterwards he sticks his hands in his pants pockets like a child deprived of a treat. "Man, Bones, you take the joy out of everything."

Leonard snorts. "Believe me, I'm saving you a heap of trouble." He points at a giant, pale-colored fish currently engaged in a slow swim-by, one beady black eye fixed upon them both. "See that?"

Jim leans down to look at the fish more closely. "Are those fangs?"

"More or less. Let's just go with they're sharp and those little bastards know how use 'em."

Jim can't seem to get over a very basic fact: "Bones, you have pet fish. Why do you have pet fish?"

"Is it against the law? Although... they are Croatian."

Kirk's head snaps up, his eyes rounder than before. "You smuggled an _endangered_ species into San Francisco?" His tone implies _How the hell did you get them onto the planet?_

"Do I look like a smuggler in exotic fish?" Leonard retorts. "Stupid things were a gift. A few years back, I operated on a department head of Marine Xenobiology, and he was so damn grateful he didn't die, he sent me these." Leonard eyes the school of fish with dislike. "I leave 'em here when we're out on assignment. Other fish would starve but..."

"Ah," says Jim knowingly as he catches on to Leonard's meaning. "So that's what the fangs are for."

"Got it in one, Jim. Fucking alien piranha—_cannibalistic_ alien piranha. Just what I always wanted." The dark-haired man turns away and heads to his kitchen to find a badly needed drink of water, tossing a second warning over his shoulder as he goes. "Don't stick your finger in there. I'm not inclined to retrieve it out of a fish belly."

The kitchen is Jim-free, although Leonard doubts that will last long. The kid has a tendency to hang out where the food is, like either the kitchen is his favorite place to be or he has to keep an eye on the perishables lest they disappear without warning. Not that Leonard's pantry and refrigerator are ever well-stocked. He's a bachelor, and a busy one at that. Lucky for him eating healthy these days isn't restricted to those who have the time to prepare said healthy meals, or he'd have to live on take-out that would kill him in a matter of years.

A quick sip of water and a free moment to lean his forehead against the cool exterior of the refrigerator door help Leonard sort through his turmoil. Could he kick Jim out? Yeah, he could. Should he kick Jim out?

Probably not.

"Damn it," he mutters under his breath, before straightening up to jerk open a cabinet door.

It's not that he doesn't understand the predicament: like a lot of the newly homeless, Jim's complex is a pile of dust and rubble beneath what is left of the _Vengeance_. On a regular day, there is limited housing on the campus the kid could claim for his own; now, even less so. And it seems Jim's idea to "room with those hot Caitian twins" didn't pan out.

The true problem for Leonard is that he understands too much. So much, in fact, with regards to anything Jim Kirk that living with the man is a disaster of its own. They're great friends. Perhaps, he muses, that's what makes them terrible roommates.

After a long, long sigh, Leonard returns to the living room with a second mug of water. Jim is too busy tapping on the glass of the fish tank to grant full attention to Leonard's arrival but does take the proffered cup with a distracted air. In the tank, the largest fish swims over in their direction to investigate. Leonard is reminded of how eerily intelligent it looks, its liquid-black gaze pinpointing the nearest face—which is Jim's.

"You must be the leader," Jim says by way of introduction to the fish.

The fish opens and closes its mouth, then burps out air bubbles and a fishbone.

Leonard's gaze automatically tracks the fishbone's descent to the bottom of the tank.

"...Or just the hungriest," Jim says, tone cheerful. "Heh. I'm gonna call you Dude. Hey, Dude, I'm Jim. You and me and Bones are gonna be roommates."

Dude's tail swishes languidly from side to side until, all of a sudden, his fishy face is nearly pressed right up against glass. So up-close his sliver-thin teeth somehow appear ominously longer they are. Jim makes an appreciative noise and raps his finger against the glass again. Leonard wonders idly if the meeting of Jim and Dude is a thing of fate.

"Oh, the portent," he murmurs to himself. Then, "Jim! Quit making faces at Du—I mean, the fish. My god, why did you have to name it?"

"Dude's a cool name."

"Only you would—" His grumble is interrupted by an exclamation of "_Whoa!_ Did you see that?"

Leonard did see it, and it's not his first time. These days, he tries _not_ to see it. The spectacle isn't pleasant to watch.

But Jim is clearly fascinated. "Man, he's like a little shark!"

Dude proudly comes back from the other side of the fish tank, where a poor, smaller, _slower_ fish had accidentally swum too far away from the main school. There's a piece of flesh hanging off one tooth and a trail of purplish blood in his wake. It's doubtful Dude's victim even saw him coming.

"Wow, Bones, I didn't know these guys could be so fast!" With a smile, Jim waves his mug of water at the tank. "Hey, little Dude, you got you some dinner, huh?"

"That dinner," Leonard answers, snatching away Jim's precariously tilted cup before it spills its contents on the floor, "was his grandfather."

Jim turns to look at him, eyebrows shooting upward. "His grandfather?"

"I told you: Cannibal. Piranha," Leonard emphasizes, and shrugs. "But, hey... what goes around, comes around. One day Dude's grandson is gonna make a snack out of him."

"That's... kind of gross." Jim peruses the rest of the seemingly innocuous fish. "Also a little awesome."

"It's vicious," corrects the doctor, "but it's a fate we've got no business interfering in."

Jim puts his back to the tank, hands sliding into his pants pockets. His voice grows soft, the look in his eyes unexpectedly cool. "Like you did for me?"

Leonard doesn't know if it is the words or the sudden sharp pain in his chest that causes him to rock back, but eventually he gathers enough of his wits to respond. "I was talking about Nibiru."

Jim's mouth quirks in a way that seems wrong. "Oh" is all he says. Kirk moves away from Leonard and the fish tank then, seeming casual, but the tension in the room tells Leonard there is nothing casual about the conversation they _aren't_ having. Jim approaches his box of belongings and rifles through it in silence while Leonard watches him.

This roommate thing isn't going to work, Leonard begins to realize, for reasons not solely to do with what childish idiots they can be. In fact, he's fairly certain if he and Jim stay together for any length of time, they will permanently damage an already fragile relationship.

Nothing concerning what has happened in the last few weeks has done them any favors. That still seems to be the case.

He draws in an uneven breath. "Jim..."

"Forget it," Jim says, not addressing him directly. "I know Nibiru wasn't my crowning moment, but..." The man falls silent for a short moment before adding, subdued, "...but I think I've paid my dues on that account."

"I know you have," Leonard replies, hearing Jim's pain reflected in his own voice. He makes a helpless gesture his friend can't see, knowing he's caved without meaning to. "I guess I can have a bed brought in for the guest room."

Jim draws his cardboard box against his stomach. "The couch is fine."

"The couch," Leonard complains, hoping to ease them out of treacherously emotional territory, "is a pain in the ass. I mean that literally. It has more lumps than the one my grandparents kept in their basement from nearly a century ago." He shifts enough to see a hint of a smile touch Jim's face. "Even at your age, your back would never stand it, kid."

Jim picks up the box, cutting a sidelong glance Leonard's way. "You know Sulu says his family still sleeps on the floor. They live in a modern house in Old Japan but he told me tradition can be more important than comfort."

In this day and age that just means the Sulu family is made up of a bunch of masochists. Since Leonard would never disrespect another man's culture, at least not Sulu's (green-blooded hobgoblins being a different matter entirely), he firms up his mouth to keep his thoughts to himself.

Jim lets out a quick laugh, declaring, "Trying to withhold an opinion makes you look constipated," and walks away, moving with a renewed confidence to the guest room Leonard has been using as storage space for the odds and ends he has a habit of buying in his spare time.

The word 'constipated' produces a fizzling noise between Leonard's teeth. Once Leonard can talk around his sputtering fit, he cries in Jim's wake, "Don't think you can live here for free, you son of a bitch!"

An echo of singsong comes from the far end of the apartment. The taunt might have been _Kisses!_

That no-good pile of turkey shit! Leonard may have to kill Jim Kirk after all.

He makes a beeline for the nearest wall comm unit and stabs a green button. "Starfleet Headquarters, Housing," he tells the computer.

"_Working... Call connected_."

At first Housing doesn't know what he's talking about but once they figure it out, they simply ignore most of his ranting; they go "uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh" while he asks how they could leave Captain James T. Kirk to wonder aimlessly for a place to live; they thank Leonard for being a good sport to room with said hero and agree to send along an extra bedding unit.

"It's the least we can do, Mr. McCoy," the sweet-voiced lady on the other end of the comm tells him.

"That's _Doctor_ McCoy, and the least you could've done was let me extend the lease on his room in the outpatient ward like I wanted to, that way he'd have a roof over his head _and_ immediate medical assistance. It was a win-win situation for both of us!"

"Your concerns have been duly noted, Dr. McCoy, but there are regulations concerning disaster relief to which all governing bodies must adhere. Medical facilities must be made readily available to registered patients only."

"He _is_ registered! I re-registered him myself!"

She continues on blithely, "Thank you for alerting us to the change in Captain Kirk's housing status. I shall mark his new place of residence as permanent until otherwise notified. Housing—"

"What! No, goddamn it, did you hear me? He's _registered_, he's been registered going on _five_ years, I renew his registration every three months in case of an emergency!"

"—appreciates your call. If you would like to stay on the line, there will be a short customer service survey."

With a curse, Leonard hangs up and considers punching the comm unit into oblivion. His better judgment tells him he doesn't need the repair bill.

"Hey, Bones!" Jim's return is preceded by his inherent cheeriness. "You own the weirdest shit."

Leonard stares at the tall twenty-something wearing a straw sombrero and snakeskin boots, and holding a maraca in one hand.

Grinning, Jim gives the brightly colored maraca a shake and pronounces, "This time we're going to be great roommates, Bones. You'll see!"

Leonard drops back against the wall and shakes his head slowly as Jim gives the maraca three additional enthusiastic shakes.

Would anyone believe him, he wonders, if he pleaded temporary insanity at the murder trial?

"Whose murder?" Jim wants to know, for Leonard's brain-to-mouth filter has apparently failed him.

"Don't ask," Leonard grumps.

Wisely, Jim does not.

[~~~]

At first, rooming with Jim seems like it might work. The universe doesn't implode, nor does Leonard. Leonard says as much, thoughtfully, if maybe with a hint of suspicion.

Which leads him to ponder, "How come you're being so quiet?"

Jim's response is to shrug and otherwise ignore the question.

Leonard purses his mouth and continues to scrutinize his new roommate. He feels it's prudent to remark, "If you cram any more of those pancakes in your mouth, you'll choke."

To spite Leonard and his sage advice, Jim manages to fit another half of a pancake in his mouth—and promptly chokes.

"Told you so," Leonard can't help saying as he moves to stand behind Jim's chair and gives the man a hearty thump on the back. Once Jim is breathing normally again, Leonard hands him the nearest glass of orange juice despite that it happens to be his own.

"Shit," Jim gasps out after swallowing a mouthful of juice and coughing. "That _sucked_."

"And now your pancakes are all regurgitated and you ain't gonna want 'em. Such a shame."

"Shut up, Bones."

"Hey, I—"

"_Told me so_. Yeah, I know. In fact, that's been your mantra since I got here."

Leonard frowns as Jim pushes away from the kitchen table. "What's that mean?"

Jim gives him an indecipherable look and picks up his plate.

"_Jim_," Leonard stresses when the answer doesn't come and Kirk moves away from the table to dispose of the remnants of his breakfast. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means: how about letting me make my own mistakes without rubbing it in?"

"I don't do that."

Jim accuses, "Yes, you do!"

When recognition of what's actually happening occurs to Leonard, he lifts a hand to stall their argument. "Wait, wait, wait... Are we finally fighting?"

"That surprises you?"

"Well, yeah—but only because I thought _I'd_ pick the first fight."

Jim snorts and drops his plate and silverware into the sink with a clang. "Because I would be the one to set you off? You give me so much credit, Bones." Jim stays with his back to Leonard, bracing his hands against the counter. His voice turns much softer. "I know this isn't what you asked for, but I am trying here... Can't you see that?"

And suddenly Leonard feels like an ass. "Jim, I'm sorry." He wants to go over to lay a hand on Jim's shoulder but knows from the man's stance physical contact wouldn't be welcome. "Look, I know you being here wasn't something you asked for either. I'm not blaming you. The fact is we're victims of circumstance and somebody else's grudge. All we can do—_are doing_—is pick ourselves out of the rubble and help each other however we can." His shoulders lower slightly in guilt. "I guess I'm not doing my part."

Jim surprises him by turning abruptly to stare him down. "Don't say that, ever. I've never seen you not do your part. I've never seen you do _just_ your part." He gestures to himself. "And if you think that might be a lie, then consider me as proof."

Leonard has to glance away at that remark because he doesn't want to dredge up the memories. Not again. They already haunt him at night.

"Still," he murmurs, his tone intentionally light, "giving you a hard time is not a big help to either of us."

Jim relaxes back against the counter, the tightness about his mouth replaced by some of his trademark humor. "I never said you weren't an ass sometimes."

"Thanks," Leonard retorts with a touch of dryness. "I'm sorry anyway. I'll do better."

Jim studies him closely. "Does this mean you'll make me more pancakes?"

Leonard crosses his arms and lifts an eyebrow.

"...And that's a no. Aw, Bones." Jim attempts to project dejection but when that has no effect on Leonard, he scrubs a hand through his hair and announces, "I call first shower!"

Leonard's eyes roll ceiling-ward. "It's not like calling shotgun, kid. Go take the damn shower." Then he stills and pretends to consider something. "Although maybe I should just be grateful you want one. It's been, what? Three days?"

Middle finger presented, Jim shuffles out of the kitchen.

Feeling no small amount of glee, Leonard hollers after him, "Don't use all the shampoo, Stinky!"

Cackling lightly to himself, Leonard puts the rest of their breakfast down the garbage disposal. This little talk is all they really needed to get them off eggshells and into living together responsibly. He's relieved.

In hindsight, Leonard should have known he would be wrong. Responsible implies mature, and mature... just isn't a state that exists between Leonard and Jim for any significant amount of time.

[~~~]

"Jim, have you seen my razor?"

"It's in my room. I used it."

Leonard stops dead in the entryway to the living area. "Excuse me?"

Jim gently places another potted plant on the coffee table. His assorted collection of vegetation is beginning to resemble the makings of a mini jungle. Leonard doesn't have a clue why Jim desires house plants all of a sudden.

But first things first. "Why did you use my razor?" he all but demands.

"Mine was too dull."

"Yours was... Well, what the hell made you think you could use mine! Damn it," Leonard says, "did you cut yourself?" He smacks his own forehead to show his own idiocy. "Wait, why am I even asking this? Of course you did. Now I'll have to sterilize the blade! Where is it? Damn it, Jim, it's an antique!"

Jim blinks blankly over his row of plants until Leonard pauses for breath. "You said 'damn it' twice."

Leonard throws out his arms, hands grasping at empty air as if he is squeezing a neck between them.

Jim, apparently, thinks it's funny when Leonard is furious enough to choke the air. "It's just a razor, Bones. Also, I'm not twelve. I didn't cut myself." He rubs at his collarbone. "It's important to be extra careful when you shave your chest." He lifts up a plant for Leonard to see. "Hey, I'm starting an herb garden. Growing things is therapeutic. This is mint. Bones? Bones, where are you going?"

Jim never does figure out that another man's razor is sacred, and no matter where Leonard hides all of his toiletries from there on out (using _his_ razors to shave chest hair, my god!), Jim has a sixth sense for finding them.

It could be said this is the worst of Jim's offenses against his friend during their 'unfortunate period of cohabitation' but, sadly, that would be untrue.

[~~~]

Some mornings should be bypassed altogether. Leonard believes this to be a holy truth. But as he is powerless to affect time, he must endure such god-awful mornings like the rest of humanity. On this particular day, he spends an extra twenty minutes looking for a hospital security badge that doesn't want to be found.

Jim is already awake and roosting on the couch, as he is wont to do when he's bored. Leonard is of the opinion his friend might have been an actual rooster in a previous life. No one else really enjoys getting up with the sun, except for Jim Kirk.

But he can't worry about that. He's lost his damn badge!

Leonard rushes through the living room in a panic, and Kirk's head comes up off the couch, swiveling away from the bright glow of a data padd to track McCoy's headlong flight.

"Hey," Jim calls right before Leonard reaches the opposite side of the room.

Simultaneously pausing in his flight and fortifying himself with a deep breath (can't Jim see he's not calm?), Leonard turns to see what this new, ill-timed expectation of Jim's might be. He has to remind himself it's worth taking another deep breath and holding it so he doesn't comment about the food wrappers and empty drink cans littering the carpet. No matter how the sight irks him, there is no time this morning to address it.

"Hey," repeats Jim, tilting his head, "question..."

Oh, damn. Leonard knows what that means. He squeezes his eyes shut. "Lord, grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change..."

"Do women talk about sex? When men aren't around?"

"...or just shut this idiot up," he amends.

"No, really, Bones... is it a guy thing or an everybody thing?"

"And why do you need to know this?"

Something crunches, like when teeth meet an apple. "I'm reading this book right now that makes me question the importance of my penis. Doesn't it frighten you that women understand too much about us, and we too little about them?"

"So get a sex change, or stop reading the book. And for god's sake, don't talk with your mouth full!" Leonard glances at the old clock he'd found at a salvage shop which Jim had cleaned up, repaired, and put on the fireplace mantel. "Damn it, I'm gonna be late."

"But, Bones—"

"If you want a philosophical debate, call Spock!" he snaps, already turning away.

It's amazing how Jim can steamroll right along through a conversation as if Leonard isn't saying no. "I bet the gender versus gender thing transcends species."

"Jim, I told you I don't have time—"

"Hey, Vulcan females... do you think the same applies?"

Leonard's brain has to pause to answer that. "You ever seen a lady Vulcan with an eye tick? A sight like _that_ will do more than wilt your cock. There's a good reason why historically the Vulcan birth rate is so low." Wait, why is he even thinking about this? "Fuck, don't talk to me! I'm _late_." Leonard scurries away to find his missing badge.

Had he left in the kitchen? Clipped to yesterday's clothes? Shit, dropped it on the street like last time?

"Bones!" the cry follows him. "What about my manhood? Where are you going? I have serious questions!"

Leonard tells no one he discovers the badge in his back pocket two minutes after he gives up the search. The reason he says nothing, of course, is because Jim is the one who points out where the badge is, and no amount of door-slamming, cursing, and in general attempting to scare young interns subsides the echo of Jim's laughter in his head for the remainder of the day.

[~~~]

While Leonard thinks Jim is crazy, the sentiment might be mutual.

He isn't used to closing doors. A man who lives alone doesn't need doors closed for privacy. This is how Leonard is caught in the bathroom, not with his pants down per se but staring into the mirror above the sink as he habitually does for the first five minutes at the start of every day.

A shadow in the hallway in the midst of passing by coalesces into Jim Kirk as it backtracks to watch Leonard watch himself in the mirror.

"Good morning," Jim says.

Leonard sighs through his nose.

Looking from the man to the mirror and back again, Jim questions, "Is there something wrong with your face? Is it stuck?"

Leonard sighs a second time and admits, "I'm old." He asks his reflection morosely, "How did I get so fucking old?"

"Bones, you're in your thirties."

"Says the kid who still has years to go before he sees the next decade of his life."

"This is a thing with you, isn't it? Calling me 'kid' makes you feel older than you are, and you love to hate yourself."

"No," Leonard refutes, annoyed, turning from that agonizingly decrepit face in the mirror that must be his. "I call you what you are, _kid_. Why the hell are you naked?"

"Clothes are confining."

"Well in my house, we don't walk around without pants."

"Whatever" is the flippant reply. "Are there eggs in the frig?"

"Jim, put on some damn boxers at least!" Leonard leans around the frame of the bathroom door to yell down the hallway after the retreating Kirk. "You can't fry eggs in the nude. It's unsanitary!"

Jim yells back, "Scrambled or sunny-side up?"

Leonard _hmph_s in lieu of answering and returns to his former position in the bathroom, except this time making certain to close the door. The same face is still there—porous, wrinkled thing that it is. If he sighs over it, well, that nobody's business but his own.

And especially not Jim's!

[~~~]

Bad things happen. Leonard hates it when they do, of course, but like everyone else he knows how to cope. Living on Earth instead of that tin can they call the _Enterprise_, however, always dulls his senses a little to bad things. That is, until Jim comes to live with him.

On the day Leonard McCoy arrives at home to discover it's on fire, he honestly isn't as shocked as he should be.

Bellowing "Jim! JIM!", Leonard drops his duffel bag, dives past the front door and into a thick billow of smoke leaking out of the kitchen. "Jim, where the devil are you?!" He swerves towards the sound of coughing and grabs at the vague shape of a man.

Said man screeches in surprise, flails, and sends them to the floor amidst a scattering of items that turn out to be tools. At least, Leonard supposes that's what they are because he finds himself nose-to-nose with a screwdriver. He picks it up and brandishes it at the smoke and the not-Jim with his demands: "What the hell is going on? Who are you? Where's Jim?"

Not-Jim is too busy hacking up a lung to give a coherent reply. Leonard contemplates knocking him out on principle.

Somewhere in the apartment, a door opens and closes and there comes the sound of running feet. Leonard hears "_Bones!_"

"In the kitchen!" he shouts.

Jim's voice grows closer. "Bones, don't go in the kitchen." Strangely, it's not panicked at all. "Come out of there!"

"No shit," growls Leonard, opting to crawl on his hands and knees toward where he knows the exit to be. Of course, he doesn't get far because his conscience is a hard thing to ignore. He drags the stranger out with him, lays the man flat on his back and tells him to keep breathing. Where's an oxygen mask when he needs one?

Jim squats down beside them. "Bob, man, you don't look so good."

Bob, eyes watering from his prolonged coughing fit, nods mutely.

Leonard narrows his eyes at this interaction and holds up the screwdriver. "Jim, want to tell me what's going on here?"

Jim's eyes widen just a fraction and his teeth sink into his bottom lip.

"S-Smoke," says Bob on Kirk's behalf.

Leonard has to question if perhaps the poor man's brains weren't scrambled before the smoke inhalation. "Yes, lots of smoke. _Bad_ smoke. Who started the fire?"

"No fire," Jim finally supplies, if reluctantly. "The stove started smoking, and I called Bob in to help."

"And Bob is...?"

"The building's handyman."

Leonard sits down on the floor with a thump. "My god, Jim, what did you break?"

Jim gives him an unsure smile before he begins to explain. Half a minute into the explanation, Leonard wishes he hadn't asked.

Later, once Bob is fully recovered from his shock and has lumbered off to contact the landlord, Leonard considers the misshapen lump that used to be his stove. At Leonard's side, Jim looks guilty.

"How could you possible kill a stove, Jim?"

Jim's sudden fidgeting is close to a squirm. "At least it didn't blow up. Scotty would have blown it up."

Leonard rounds on his roommate and jabs a finger into a breastbone. "Scotty's not here, you are! You destroyed my kitchen!"

"I'll pay for it."

"No, the insurance will pay for it. _You_ will get a _hobby_—preferably one that involves you actually stepping foot outside of this apartment!"

Jim widens his stance and crosses his arms. "Hey, it's not like I don't go out."

Leonard ticks off one finger. "To the corner store." Then another. "To the Chinese joint across the street." Another. "To pick up packages which technically never requires you to vacate the building." He shakes those three fingers at Jim's nose. "Medical leave does not mean live like a hermit!"

"I'm rehabilitating!"

"No, convicts rehabilitate. Addicts rehabilitate. You're hiding!"

Jim's eyes flash with real temper, and he clams up.

Leonard knows he's said the wrong thing. He pulls back and lowers his voice. "I get it, I do. You're not as comfortable in your skin as you used to be. But that doesn't mean you're not the same person you've always been." Dismayed, he glances at the stove. "I'm not going to push you before you're ready, Jim, but please... try not to cause any more household items to suffer in the meantime."

"Your stove had a design flaw. I wanted to fix it."

Leonard considers that statement because he thinks he hears something Jim isn't saying. Sighing when he comes to a conclusion, Leonard drapes an arm over Kirk's shoulders. "I knew it had a flaw."

A muscle ticks in Jim's jaw. "Then why didn't you get it fixed?"

"Because I liked it the way it was. To me, it didn't need fixin'."

Jim asks after a beat of silence, expression unchanged, "Would you fix me?"

"Don't I always if you need it?"

Leonard can't blame Jim for deciding whether or not to believe him, but he does worry when Jim nods once, yielding, "If you say so, Bones" yet still seems troubled as he looks away.

But he lets the point go, because maybe there is something about Jim after all that isn't as whole as he thought. Maybe there is a new thing—not a flaw but a piece of Jim which used to have purpose but doesn't anymore. Leonard doesn't know what to do about it, no matter his on-the-side degree in psychology, except to react as a friend would. They stand as they are for a while, not exactly hugging but not breaking contact with each other either, until Handyman Bob comes back into the apartment with word from the building owner.

[~~~]

Like any two people who have known each other long enough to be accepting of each other's shortcomings, Jim and Leonard don't always drive each other crazy. The fact is Leonard is very used to being around Jim most days. During the Academy years they kept in constant touch, had late dinners together, bitched about school life or poor quality cafeteria food, had each other's backs in a fight—did all the things good friends would do. On the _Enterprise_ they remained close despite the individual responsibilities turning their schedules into uncooperative things which like to place them on separate ends of the ship as often as possible. Jim sought Leonard out as a best friend would, and Leonard made a point of sticking by Jim when times were at their most stressful.

But at the end of everything, Leonard has had the option of retreating to his own room or his own bay or his own side of San Francisco. It may not be an option he always chose but he would know he could and that, it seems, makes all the difference between defining a functional and a dysfunctional relationship.

So he and Jim can share a meal or watch the same news channel; they can talk about trivial things, discuss future plans, or watch Dude swim round and round the fish tank like a mean killing machine. Everything is fine, perfectly ordinary—until Leonard recalls he can't send Jim on his way once he needs to be alone.

Jim, it could be said, _never_ needs or wants to be alone.

"I don't think I can take much more of this," Leonard tells a friend over a morning cup of coffee. "He's my best friend, and it could probably be said I love the bastard—not that I'm admitting I do," he adds at his friend's speculative look, "—but if I have to see Jim's face when I get home tonight... things may happen. Unfortunate things," he mutters into his expensive dark roast.

"You know, when you're living under the same roof with someone you get around the hate-filled thoughts by—"

"—having sex. Yeah. I _was_ married. Believe me, I remember how that works. Or in my case, how it didn't." He flashes his ring-less left hand that still sports the slight indent of a wedding band. "Hence the divorce."

His friend props her head up, chin in hand. "So sex isn't an option?"

Leonard gives her a sour look. "You're not being helpful, Nyota."

"What should I do then? Give you permission to stick him with sharp objects?" The smirk blossoming on her face is disturbingly razor-edged. "Sure, go ahead, Leonard. Just leave his head mostly intact. We might need that once we have our ship back."

"That's the part I really want to break," Leonard grumbles.

Nyota must find his griping hilarious. Leonard waits until she's done laughing to pick up her coffee cup along with his. "Want a refill, darlin'?"

"No, that's all right," the woman says, standing up. "I have a seminar to attend, and you should be at the hospital."

He snorts, amused for no particular reason. "I think they could do without me just this once."

Nyota reaches out to pat his bare forearm, her smile inexplicably soft. "No, I doubt they could. None of us can—and Jim being the foremost of us. Don't forget you're the reason we still have him, Leonard."

Leonard shakes his head slightly, not really wanting to put into words how unlikely it is he will ever forget that one little fact. The cost to save Jim had been high. He knows he's lucky to still have his practitioner's license, although he isn't doing much practicing at all these days, just work a residency student would. There are some individuals on the Medical Board who didn't, and still don't, want to see him set foot on the hospital grounds. It will be a long time, if ever, that the stigma of what he did to preserve his captain's life is not the first thing upon which peers and rivals alike judge him.

"You should come visit us sometime," Uhura offers in the wake of his silence. "Just you. It might lessen that urge to do bodily harm to your roommate."

"I really don't see how swapping out Spock for Jim will improve my mood."

That smirk comes back. "Consider it an invitation to broaden your perspective."

"So after an evening with a Vulcan, I'm likely to see Jim as the lesser of two evils?" Leonard stares at her, not certain if it would be rude to laugh. "Woman, I don't know whether to call you crazy or a saint."

"Isn't long-suffering a term for both?" Nyota quips in return, then winks. "Just give it some thought. You know where I live once you decide." After a brief goodbye, she leaves him at the table in the crowded campus cafe.

Leonard recycles her cup, refills his own, and soon exits the cafe himself. During his ambulatory path to work, he considers the pros and cons of sharing personal space with Spock. Maybe it is a point in Jim's favor that he cannot think of a single pro except one: were Leonard and Spock roommates, it surely would drive Spock crazier than it would him!

It's a shame no one at the hospital asks Leonard why he chuckles intermittently. He would have been immensely pleased to explain it to them.

[~~~]

Jim is definitely no Vulcan.

Actually, Leonard thinks he must be living with a five year-old in a grown man's body. That would explain why he startles awake to find Jim leaning over him, having pried Leonard's eyelids open at the crack of dawn in order to ask, "Are you asleep?"

Predictably, Leonard punches Jim. Because he also cares about the asshole, he crawls out of bed and retrieves a bag of frozen peas for Jim's bruised right eye.

Jim grins lopsidedly at him from behind the peas, balanced upon the edge of Leonard's bed. "Your right hook's improving."

Leonard briefly considers blackening the other eye but remembers he doesn't have a second bag of peas. He settles for growling, "Is there a good reason why you woke me up?"

Jim, still grinning, keeps his silence. Leonard never figures out the motive for that early morning disturbance, but then again he doubts anyone truly comprehends the reasoning behind the weird things Jim does.

[~~~]

Some days with Jim defy explanation. Like today.

The fish tank looks festive. Dude is wearing a tiny plastic party hat. It sparkles. Leonard has no words.

Even when Jim pops out of a closet in that ridiculous sombrero with a cry of "Happy Birthday, Bones!" Leonard has no words. Then his roommate shoves a bottle of old Kentucky Blue into his hands.

Leonard twists out the cork and drinks the liquor straight. He gives his stomach a moment to quit roiling and says matter-of-factly to Jim, "Never tell me how you got that hat on that fish."

And thus they get drunk, watch old movies, and valiantly ignore Jim's sloppily bandaged left hand.

[~~~]

Other days with Jim can be explained but really, truly shouldn't be. At least not to sane people.

Jim and Leonard end up fighting over the last pretzel. Jim knocks it to the floor, Leonard goes after it, Jim gives Leonard a wedgie, Leonard knees Jim in the groin, somebody gets their hair set on fire, and somebody else wakes up painted blue.

It's a fair fight, even though afterwards Leonard maintains that he won it.

Jim argues, "Yeah but blue dye, Bones? How is that even a respectable counter attack?"

The next morning, Jim wakes up with blue hair too.

[~~~]

When Jim's medical leave ends, they've been living together for three months. Jim has been called back to Headquarters for a briefing and an assignment, though tentative dates for housing reconstruction are abysmal. Leonard is simply grateful to know Jim will be part of a collaborative project or two that doesn't involve attempts to communicate telepathically with a cannibal-fish, because he thinks Jim needs the direction and the focus. He doesn't mention his gratitude to anyone.

That hour before his meeting, Jim flies into the kitchen. "Bones, have you seen my left sock?"

Leonard reaches for another dirty plate in the sink. "What?" he asks absently, squinting at the research article text on the data padd propped against the sill above the sink.

"My sock."

"Choriomeningitis, variety, Vegan," mutters the doctor. "Jim, hush, I have to study this and I can't do that with you yappin'."

Moments later, a finger pokes rudely into Leonard's side. Leonard is startled enough to drop the half-scrubbed plate back into the soapy water. He curses.

"Sock. Sooock," repeats his roommate, crowding him.

Leonard's fingers find a spatula beneath the water line and he ponders what kind of criminal charges Jim could bring up against him if he used it as a weapon. Probably domestic abuse.

"_Sock_," Jim says again, like they don't speak the same language.

"Did you check the laundry basket?"

"We have a laundry basket?"

"Yes, doofus, we have a laundry basket. But maybe you don't know that because I'm the one who has to dump your dirty clothes in it!"

"I thought we had maid service."

Leonard jerks his hands out of the dishwater. "I'M THE MAID!"

Jim makes a face and proceeds to wipe away the suds that had been flung at him. "Wow, okay. Did you take your medication this morning?"

"THAT'S FOR HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE!"

"So, sock in the basket and bring you some more blood pressure meds. Got it."

Jim is out of the kitchen in the next blink of Leonard's eye. Muttering about selfish bastards who can't wash their own socks, Leonard goes back to cleaning the dishes with one hand and scrolling through his padd with the other.

Jim never does bring him that medication.

[~~~]

Everybody knows Leonard Horatio McCoy is a moody man. Some would even say he broods simply because he can. It surprises Leonard a little, then, to find himself trying to talk someone else out of a long bout of brooding. After an unsuccessful Sunday afternoon of exactly this, he admits failure.

"Fine, be that way," Leonard complains to his eerily silent companion. "Don't come crying to me when all your little plants have wilted because your cloud of gloom and doom has stolen their sunshine."

Jim cuts a look in his direction, and to say Leonard has improved Kirk's mood with his humor would be an utter lie. If anything, Jim looks sourer.

Leonard tries to match the expression and simply can't. That level of grumpiness is beyond him, and he figures he's pretty good at it given that he was born with a frown on his face.

Jim returns to staring into the fish tank. Dude stares back. He probably hasn't forgiven Jim for the embarrassment of the hat.

"Jim," Leonard sighs, "my grandmamma used to say, 'if you could kick the person in the ass most responsible for your trouble, you wouldn't sit for a week.' Now as much as I hate to admit it, she was right a time or two. I don't think glowering at Dude _or me_," he adds when Jim's head swivels in his direction again, "is going to make you feel better. Why don't we talk about it like the rational fellows we are?"

"Fuck off, Bones!" Jim snaps out and levers himself away from his preferred side of the couch.

Leonard is actually glad to see Jim can still stand up. He had feared at one point, since Jim had been in that same spot for hours, the kid had been assimilated by the furniture. He follows Jim to the guest room, which has pretty much become unconditionally Jim's.

Jim stops him at the door with a look that could almost flay skin from bone. "Are you deaf, Leonard?"

"I'm not deaf. I'm worried. What did Barnett say?"

Jim shuts the door in his face.

Leonard blows out a breath and congratulates himself for alienating his closest friend. He thinks if they weren't bumping elbows all the time, Jim could have eventually been coaxed out of his bad mood and made to talk. They'd meet for a beer and hash it out. As it stands now, the best Leonard can do is offer space and time for Jim's temper to cool.

And that, he decides, is yet another crappy side-effect of being roommates.

A few days afterward, Jim stops sliding his vegetables around on his dinner plate to say, "The Klingons are still howling about invasion of their territory, and while Marcus was the culprit, he's dead. Barnett said they're handling things... but don't be surprised if I'm the one they serve up as the scapegoat."

Leonard puts down his fork. "Those _motherfuckers_."

Jim won't look at him. "I did volunteer us to go after Khan." His voice is bitter, his expression miserable. "And played my crew right into Marcus's hands."

"Shut up, Jim," Leonard says, picking up his fork again. "If you deserve punishment, then we all do."

Jim glances at him. "You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly," snarls Leonard, stabbing at a diced potato that definitely bears resemblance to Barnett's face in his mind's eye. "You died for your ship. I think you get a fuckin' clean slate for that. And I'll tell any rat bastard the same thing who says otherwise. So tomorrow we go to HQ and—" He has to stop, has to, because he realizes with a jolt he can't do what he's thinking. Up in HQ, there isn't that one person they know they can count on to listen, to take their side. There isn't that one person who believes in Jim more than Leonard does. He's dead and buried.

Leonard finds it hard to swallow.

The sudden sheen to Jim's eyes is unmistakable. But Jim says nothing to encourage or deny Leonard's anger, just keeps his gaze fixed upon his untouched dinner. Leonard comes close to hating himself in that moment for re-opening the wound of Pike's death.

"Tomorrow we go to find Spock. His father's still an ambassador, and if Sarek's on our side that has to hold some weight with the Powers That Be," he finishes, hating how desperate and farfetched the suggestion sounds.

Jim shakes his head and pushes away from the table. "I don't want Spock or his family involved, Bones. I don't want you involved either. I was captain. I was responsible."

Leonard wants to say _no one is responsible for the actions of mad men except the mad men themselves_ but doesn't. Jim won't listen.

It doesn't matter, Leonard decides, staring down at his plate, his appetite gone. Jim may not care to fight the battle, but Leonard does and knows plenty of other people who do too. He will go see Spock if that's what it takes.

It's ironic, Leonard will think later, that he ends up accepting Nyota's offer on Jim's behalf and not his own.


	2. Part Two

Jim is himself again within a day or so. He comes and goes more regularly from the apartment since he's returned to active duty, and the conversations between Kirk and McCoy are less one-sided and hostile.

Yet Leonard still suspects Jim is not spending his free time in a way that's normal because the kid is home like clockwork and those less-hostile conversations say nothing of his day and generally revolve around Jim wondering if Dude has missed him while he was away. For every step forward in Jim's world, he supposes, frustrated but resigned, there has to be two steps back.

Since Jim doesn't seem unhappy, Leonard tries minding his own business as best he can. Well, for as long as he can stand it. That leads to planning about the Klingon-business.

Nonetheless, the talk with Spock is not something which happens right away, no matter how good Leonard's intentions are. He gets sidetracked from the task, first because of a minor crisis at work that requires him to pull three shifts in a row and then later through what he discovers are purposeful distractions created by none other than his much-too-precocious roommate. Unfortunately, this is something he figures out a week late in the midst of donning his favorite jacket in preparation to make a trip to the local convenience store.

Hearing Leonard, no doubt, Jim comes skidding out of the kitchen to beg him to have a movie night.

Frowning helps Leonard think. "It's the weekend, and it's the morning."

"It'll be a movie day!"

Leonard's frown deepens. "I've never heard of that, Jim."

Jim grins at him. "That's because I just invented it!"

"You invent a lot of pointless things, kid. Sorry, I don't have time right now." He turns for the door, patting his pocket for his wallet. No wallet. Huh.

At Leonard's back, Jim is saying, "Ah, c'mon! We can eat junk—I mean, healthy food! All the organic spinach and broccoli you want! I might even try some. Bones?" A hand grasps at the back of Leonard's jacket. "Bones, hey, you really shouldn't go out. What if you get stuck somewhere without your wallet?"

Leonard rounds on his roommate, disbelieving. "You _took_ my wallet?"

And that's when clarity strikes: in the form of a wide-eyed Jim.

"Maybe?"

"Jim!"

"Dude did it."

"DUDE IS A FISH!"

Jim glances to the side. "He wanted me to do it."

"My god," Leonard says, completely horror-struck by what he is hearing, "there's something _wrong_ with you."

Jim gives him a pathetic look. "It's called missing my best friend."

"Hah!" Leonard crowds in close and sticks a finger under Jim's nose. "That is the most dishonest thing you've said all week! I can see right through you, Jim Kirk. Now give me back my damn wallet, or I'm going to knock you six ways to Sunday!"

"Tomorrow is Sunday."

Grabbing two handfuls of Jim's t-shirt, Leonard gives his roommate a none-too-gentle shake. "_Jim!_"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Kirk's hands fly up in surrender. "Easy on the clothes, man. You know this is my favorite shirt!"

Leonard lets him go with a slight shove and stalks off. When he returns, he has a ballpoint pen in his fist. He raises it and launches himself at Kirk. Jim dives out of the way with a "Bones! No! _Stabbing, bad!_"

Leonard hooks his would-be victim around the neck from behind and drags him backward. "Hold still!"

Instead said victim flails his limbs so much, Leonard has to fight hard to keep a hold of him. When the pen gets knocked out his hand and lands across the room, Leonard suffers a moment of indecision. Retrieve the pen, or keep Jim?

Jim, typically, takes advantage of that moment by head-butting him like a vengeful ram.

Stars explode in front of Leonard's eyes. He doubles over, clutching at his face. "_Motherfuuu—_"

In the next moment Jim is bent over too, gasping equally hard for breath and bracing his hands against his knees. "You were going to stab me!" He sounds appalled.

"No, I—ow, fuck!—I was gonna write on your shirt, you idiot!"

"What?"

"_Asshole_," Leonard snarl-whimpers through his pain. "I was gonna write 'I am an asshole' on your shirt!" He peels one of his hands from his face and inspects the blood on it. "Damn it, Jim, you broke my nose."

Jim looks at Leonard's hand, pales suddenly, and sits down on the floor with a thump.

Surprised, Leonard lets go of his nose and squats to Jim's level. "What's the matter? You look like you're gonna throw up."

"I might," Jim agrees, and swallows. "Your—did I really break it?"

Using the back of his hand, Leonard tries to clean his bloody face. "It hurts, it's fine. I'll fix it," he assures the man.

Jim lays a hand over his eyes with a murmur of "I'm sorry". He says nothing else.

Leonard reaches for his friend's shoulder but stops short, seeing his hand against the backdrop of the white t-shirt. He withdraws, unexpectedly ashamed that he had intended to mess with Jim's shirt in the first place. Whatever had gotten into him, had sparked his fury, has fled him.

"Damn," he mutters and stands up, thinking they might have reached a new level to their stupidity, the kind called dangerous.

On his way to the bathroom, he strips the oldest towel out of the linen closet for mopping up blood and finds his medkit. Under the harsh light over the sink, no amount of cleaning himself up makes the situation seem better: his nose still hurts like a wicked bitch; the mirror reflects back angry red skin and the beginnings of swelling; and Jim might be scarred for life. It's his personal tricorder that saves the day by giving him better news than he expects.

Good news or not, though, still requires a trip to a doctor's office. On his day off.

Leonard groans, sticks the tricorder back in its case, and washes his hands. The towel goes into the trash bin. He doesn't bother to look in the mirror again. There isn't anything worth seeing. To Leonard's surprise, Jim is leaning against the wall outside the bathroom waiting for him, eyes restlessly roaming the hallway though the rest of Jim is perfectly motionless.

Jim takes one look at his face and says, "We're going to the hospital."

"It's not broken, Jim."

Jim's jawline only grows more mulish.

"Fine, a hairline fracture," Leonard admits. "But a few minutes with a bone regenerator, and my nose will be as good as new. It won't take long. I'll be back in a while."

"I'm going with you." Jim presents something to Leonard with an apology. "I'm really sorry, Bones."

Leonard takes and tucks away his wallet without more than a glance at it. "Me too, Jim." He shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. "C'mon, let's go."

Jim leads the way to the front door.

In the end, it's not too much of a hassle after all. One of the nurses Leonard gets along with is on duty and she puts him in an empty exam cubicle. She agrees to use the regenerator on him after he tells her it's a small bone fracture. Then the nurse asks, of course, what happened.

Hanging out by the far wall of the small area, Jim looks guilty enough for the both of them but Leonard just replies, "I walked into a door."

The woman narrows her eyes at him as she positions the regenerator against the left side of his nose. "You know, we're trained to be wary of that answer, and since I think in general you aren't an absent-minded person..." She looks to Jim.

"Hey," Leonard says sharply, pretty certain Jim is going to confess any second to something ridiculous if no one intervenes, "even a smart man can be an idiot once and a while!"

She smirks a little, distracted from Jim again. "I guess so—but for the record, whether you walked into a door, met a wall that didn't like you or accidentally punched yourself in the face, try not to repeat the experience more than once. You'll save yourself and the hospital staff a lot of paperwork and unnecessary questions."

"Yes, ma'am," agrees Leonard. From the corner of his eye, he watches Jim nod.

"All done," the nurses announces cheerily a minute later, removing the regenerator and stepping back from the exam table Leonard has perched on. She holds out her hand, palm up. "That will be one favor owed, please."

Leonard sighs and slips to his feet. "I don't know why I like you, Lydia."

Lydia turns to the other man in the room, ignoring him. "Aren't you Jim Kirk?"

Jim, stupid as ever, answers her. "Uh, yes?" Watching Jim wince, Leonard thinks he looks like someone expecting to go under an interrogation.

"So that makes you Dr. McCoy's roommate!"

Both men blink.

"Leonard complains about you all the time," Lydia clarifies. "At least three times a shift."

Slowly but surely, Jim's face brightens. For a split second, Jim and Lydia look like twins and that causes Leonard to shudder.

"If Bones is doing the complaining, then I know I have been grossly misrepresented, Nurse. Would you like to hear my side of the story?"

"No!" Leonard says at the same time Lydia replies too happily, "Oh, yes!"

"I haven't had breakfast," Jim says, glowing with his preternatural charm. As if recognizing its cue, the man's stomach rumbles loudly.

Lydia starts toward Kirk, seeming much too pleased. "The cafeteria serves excellent blueberry pie, and I'm due for a break." As she loops her arm through Jim's and lets her chivalrous companion open the door for them, she sneaks a glance at Leonard and mouths: "Consider this the favor, my friend."

Certain he's been duped, Leonard starts after them.

In the corridor, Lydia is asking Jim with blatant curiosity: "Do you really put Dude in a fishbowl and bring him to the supper table every night?"

"I have to. The poor guy is lonely," Jim explains, somehow sounding much more reasonable and sane than Leonard makes him out to be. "He may be at the biggest, smartest, fastest fish in the tank but that means he doesn't have any friends. So how could I not bring him along?"

"That's rather sweet, Mr. Kirk."

"Call me Jim, please."

"All right, Jim."

Leonard slows his pace to allow the pair to move farther along the corridor, keeping his gaze fixed on his roommate's back. Jim says Dude doesn't have any friends, and while Leonard wouldn't disagree (because, seriously, Dude _eats_ his friends), is that observation a reflection of how Jim feels about himself? That he's lost the people closest to him... or no longer deserves them because of what could have happened? The very idea is ludicrous to Leonard.

But he knows he's missing something vital. Jim is fixing things that don't need to be fixed, finding companions in the most wayward of places, and otherwise living in a dull routine that would have, in early years, driven the man crazy.

PTSD makes itself known in so many ways (like his own nightmares) but this... this is _not_ the same way Jim has been through it before. This is not Jim going off the deep-end or throwing himself out of a moving object or standing in the middle of field while a thousand missiles plummet toward him. This is not bar fights or one-night stands.

It's a new kind of Jim, closed-off, reserved and taking a punch without punching back. Even flirting with Lydia as Jim is, Leonard sees a person he doesn't really know.

Rubbing a hand against his breastbone doesn't ease the fright forming behind it.

What does he do? Where can he go from here?

"Bones! You coming?"

Leonard's eyes snap open, surprising him since he can't remember closing them. He spies Jim and Lydia paused near the elevator, watching him in bemusement. "Sorry," he tells them, catching up, "thought I saw someone I knew."

Jim smiles at him, the contentedness in his face barely mirrored in his eyes, and holds open the elevator door.

"What kind of pie will you have?" Lydia asks Leonard conversationally once they are all settled inside.

"Anything," he says just as Jim answers, "Pecan."

"I don't want pecan pie today."

Jim is looking up at the digital display of the elevator, seemingly mesmerized by the countdown of floors. He gives a slight shrug. "Strange. I guess people change."

_No, strange is you,_ Leonard doesn't say. _What are you thinking about, Jim?_

"We're here," Lydia announces, breaking the awkward silence, when the elevator dings. She steps off, followed closely by Jim and then by Leonard.

He knows if he asks the question he won't receive an answer. It could be Jim doesn't know the answer.

But one must be found. Leonard resolves to find it—and he knows where he has to start. Somehow unsurprised, he realizes that place is the very one he needed to go to all along.

[~~~]

Knowing where to start is not the same thing as knowing how. Then again, in a situation such as this, Leonard simply throws caution to the wind and forges on. That's not to say the recipient of this tactic always appreciates his method.

"You're staring," Leonard says, staring back. "Stop that. Let me in."

"I am accustomed to receiving notice of an impending arrival. You provided none."

That's an accusation if Leonard ever heard one. The doctor has to remind himself he is there to seek help; tossing out insults beforehand is not the wisest thing he could do.

As mild-mannered as he can sound, he explains, "I was invited." When the staring doesn't stop, Leonard makes a noise of exasperation. "_By your girlfriend,_ Spock."

"Nyota is not present. I do not know the precise time she will return. I will inform her that you attempted to visit," Spock replies, polite but brusque. The Vulcan steps back so the door can slide closed.

"Now wait just a cotton-pickin' minute!" Leonard positions his foot in front of the sensor. "Nyota mighta said I could come by but you're the one I need to see!"

Spock looks down at the boot planted in his doorway, mouth thinning ever-so-slightly. "My home is not the proper place to discuss matters of business, Dr. McCoy."

"Except for the little _matter_ of ensured privacy," Leonard all but hisses in return.

"You wish to hold a private conversation?"

"No, I'm gonna come in 'n dance on my head! I just said I did."

One of Spock's eyebrows does its _you make me peevish and this is the only way I can show it_ routine. "You said no such thing, Doctor."

Leonard presses his mouth into a thin line, unhappy to have to force out the next word. "Please."

Spock opens his mouth, only to close it again and scrutinize Leonard. After a moment or two Leonard is asked, "What does the matter concern?"

He plans to answer that question but not in the hallway where ears might be growing long. A neighbor farther along the way has already poked his head out of his apartment to see what's going on. So Leonard says instead, "I'll give you one guess." When Spock continues to wordlessly consider him, Leonard resists a random urge to bounce on the balls of his feet and settles for wearing the usual expression he gets whenever he's about to say _guess what our idiot of a captain just did_.

Slowly, in a tone almost suppressed, Spock remarks, "I... see."

And he finally moves aside to allow Leonard entrance to his home.

Thank all that's holy, they haven't lost this one tiny ability of theirs, Leonard thinks. There's no one else he can look at and have it understood without words Jim is the priority. He wishes he knew why that was so, because it's not like they can communicate rationally about anything else. Hell, they don't even particularly like being in the same room. (Department-head conferences used to be a real pain. Especially if Leonard got bored enough to nod off and Spock had the opportunity to point him out to the rest of the room as 'an example of an officer with an attention deficiency'. Maybe Leonard would have let that go if Scotty wasn't usually drooling on his padd at the other end of the table. Damn Vulcan tattle-tell.) And no matter how Spock would protest to care about such things is not something a Vulcan does, Leonard knows it's true. He sees it in the way Spock habitually ignores him outside of ship's business.

Not that he does anything on his part to bridge the unfriendly gap between them. That would be... that would be plain weird. Why would he need or want a know-it-all like Spock for a friend?

He tucks those thoughts away. They won't do him any good right now.

"Jim's an idiot," he begins in his gruff way. "And in case you haven't heard, he's an idiot I live with."

"I am aware of your housing situation."

Leonard puffs out a breath and crosses his arms. "Is Jim the one who told you?"

"No. We have had little-to-no contact in eleven weeks and four days."

That gives Leonard pause. "Not since the hospital?"

"Negative, Doctor."

"It's worse than I thought, then," he murmurs grimly. Leonard waves a hand at a nearby chair. "Mind if I sit?"

"I do not."

Spock moves toward the couch opposite the chair but stands beside it, folding his hands behind his back. For a quick second, Leonard has a flash of a memory: Spock flanking the captain's chair, listening as Leonard argued a case to Jim. Leonard had sort of resented the Vulcan for doing that, like he was subtly waiting for the moment to oppose anything Leonard said in order to turn Jim's favor, and all because he could as the ship's First Officer.

But that's not the way Spock works, he realizes all of a sudden. A question pops out of him, unbidden: "Do you ever wonder why Jim calls on the both of us when he has to make a command decision but can't make up his mind?"

Spock is frank, as always. "I know why he asks for me, Doctor: it is my duty to assist him in such decision-making. I present facts and provide risk-based calculations."

"I meant why _me_, Spock. I think we both know a medical opinion isn't always warranted."

"Indeed. However, it is precisely your position aboard the ship which makes you the best candidate to report upon the ship's readiness."

"Readiness?"

"Its psychological status, Doctor. Mechanical status can be garnered from the ship's computer, but the mental fortitude of the crew cannot be measured so empirically."

"You sure about that? I'd think the Chief Communications Officer would be up-to-date on the crew. Uhura's the one with her ear to the ground all the time."

"I believe it was she who pointed out no one knows a man's woes better than his doctor."

Leonard almost smiles. "That's certainly a part of the job a medical school doesn't advertise."

"Why have you asked this question?" the Vulcan wants to know, looking interested. "I doubt it is related to your motive for coming here."

"It's not, but I just wondered... does it bother you, that Jim looks to me sometimes?"

Oddly, no hesitation accompanies Spock's "No."

"Why?"

"You provide an opinion I cannot. That in itself makes the opinion valuable, Doctor. Also, if the captain requested only the facts and gave no credence to the status of his crew, I would question his ability to command."

Leonard rubs a finger against his mouth. "Spock, sometimes I think you have a better grasp of interpersonal relationships than you let on." Since Spock neither admits nor denies that, Leonard lets the opportunity pass. "About Jim," he says, returning them to the most important subject. "He was up at Headquarters recently, and he's come back with a notion that, frankly, terrifies me."

Spock straightens minutely. "Explain."

"Hold your horses. I'm getting there. What've you heard about the Klingons?"

"Not a great deal. Unfortunately, the security clearance of what I do know restricts me from discussing it with you."

"As somebody who might know more than me, then, you'd be better informed to speculate what's gonna happen—like say when Command turns Jim into a patsy."

One moment Spock is too still, the next moment he is too close to towering over Leonard's chair, his voice abrupt. "You are mistaken."

Leonard tries not to feel intimidated by the severity of Spock's tone. "I'm not the one who came up with the idea, remember? And we know how Jim's hunches usually play out." He waits for Spock to finish judging him with that inscrutable gaze before speaking more quietly. "Do you get now why I'm a little worried? We like to believe Starfleet is a fair and just body of governance, Spock, but it's only as good as the people who run it—and I think we've had it proven," he adds darkly, "not all of the brass operate on the same level of morality as everybody else."

"Admiral Marcus was an exception."

"Admiral Marcus might be a warning shot over the bow," Leonard counters. "Do you really think he was the only one heading up Section 31? Spock, things like that don't get done by _one man_. He had to have support in the right places, and that means there's a least a handful of people in positions of power who think the way he did. Who _want_ war with the Klingons." He's too agitated to stay in the chair but the unfamiliar space of Spock's home leaves him nowhere to go. "Christ. If they try to pin it on Jim... resigning my commission is the least of what I'll do."

"These are not thoughts I advise you to speak of freely."

Leonard cuts a sidelong glance at Spock. "I don't hear you disagreeing."

Something flickers through Spock's eyes. "I cannot disagree, Doctor."

Leonard rounds on Spock with "Then what do we do?" His words are less demanding than they are desperate. He almost adds _How do we stop them?_ but stops himself, rephrasing the question in a way that means more to Spock. "How do we save Jim?"

"I do not know," Spock tells him with clear reluctance.

Leonard closes his eyes. "You know, I failed Jim once already, Spock. I wasn't there when he died, and there's not a day that goes by that I don't hate myself for it." His eyes open, and he looks past Spock's shoulder, thinking if Spock has a kind bone in his body, he won't mention the hint of tears. "If it's even possible to settle that kind of debt, then there's no better place for me to start than by making sure his sacrifice for us isn't forgotten or repaid with betrayal."

Spock stiffens in a such way that Leonard instantly recognizes the Vulcan has thought of something which might help them.

Except Spock tells him, "You have solved your own problem, Dr. McCoy."

"What?" Leonard can't think of how.

"Perhaps," Spock says in a tone so smooth it ought to belong to a politician, "we should thank Jim Kirk for his heroism."

It's possible Spock is suffering from memory loss. "Didn't we already do that? Like, yay, you saved our ship from being squished like a bug, and damn it, Jim, why did you have to die in the process?"

"Not formally, Doctor."

Leonard notices the glint to Spock's dark eyes and wonders... but wait. Wait! Oh Lord, why didn't he think of this! "You mean, we haven't thanked him _publicly_! And if we... my god, man, that's brilliant. If Jim's a hero—hell, like he isn't already one after the Narada—a _bigger_ hero than before, Starfleet will have a hell of a time explaining why they've turned him over to serve a life sentence in Rura Penthe!"

Spock's "Precisely" may be a little bit smug but Leonard can forgive him that. In fact, he's kind of contemplating hugging the hobgoblin.

"Hmm," he says, and takes a step toward Spock.

Spock just tilts his head in his trademark curious manner, like he's trying to work out what mischief Leonard is up to. Sadly, that is the moment Nyota comes home.

Leonard turns to greet her, unable to keep his good humor out of his voice. "Hello there, darlin'."

"Leonard!" the lovely woman returns, sounding surprised but also pleased. Then she moves into the room and looks from Spock to Leonard and back again. "I see you took me up on the offer."

"Nyota, how was your trip to the market?"

"I found everything I wanted."

Spock observes the open door. "Do the items need to be retrieved?"

Nyota waves at the hallway beyond her and explains vaguely, "No. They're being brought up."

Really? This complex has footmen? Spock definitely must be a penny richer than the rest of them, Leonard thinks. He's on the verge of asking about that when Spock begins instead, "Dr. McCoy and I—"

"G-Geez, Uhura," comes an interruption from the hall, a groan so easily familiar it causes Leonard to freeze like a deer caught in headlights. "What did you buy, rocks? Wait, where'd you go?"

"In here," calls Nyota too sweetly. Addressing Spock, she says, "You'll never guess who I ran into on the way home."

Spock lifts an eyebrow, no doubt having already delineated as much.

Seconds later, a huffing-and-puffing Jim Kirk appears in the doorway, weighed down by several overloaded grocery bags. He's sweating. "Whew," breathes the man, dropping the bags to the floor and half-falling against the doorframe. "Stairs. So many _stairs._"

Leonard scoots behind Spock as quickly as possible. Spock immediately turns to question what the doctor is doing but Leonard pokes the Vulcan in the back with his elbow to keep him still.

"O-Okay," Jim says, trying to straighten and not stagger at the same time, "I'm okay now. Where do you want the bags?" He looks around the room. "Is the kitchen that way? Oh, hey, Spock. Hey, Bones. I suppose I could just—" Kirk's voice dies. His gaze snaps back to Spock and Leonard.

"Um," Leonard begins cautiously, because a certain green-blooded bastard fails miserably at acting as a sight-shield and has stepped to the side to reveal McCoy to the one person he doesn't want to see him.

"You're... here." As McCoy looks on, Jim's shock is replaced by something dark. "Bones, why are you here?"

This isn't going to be pretty, Leonard can tell. He tries for an air of unconcern. "What, you think you're my only friend? I'm visitin'."

If anything, Jim looks more suspicious. "With Spock?"

There's another tick of silence in the room wherein Jim's eyes narrow to slits and Nyota, shaking her head at them, gathers the grocery bags forgotten at Jim's feet and takes them to the kitchen, somehow not surprising anyone that she doesn't need help to lift them.

Leonard starts to speak, not certain what lie is about to slip out but more than ready to make one up. "Jim..."

Spock cuts in. "Leonard is indeed here to see me. We are..." He looks at the man beside him. "...learning how to improve our relations."

Grinning his approval, Leonard rocks back on his heels and declares, "I am beginning to like you better. Imagine that!" Who would have thought a stuffy Vulcan could be sly and straightforward at the same time!

"Doctor, I am not comfortable when you look at me in that manner."

"Look at you like what? You do know I was thinking about hugging you earlier, right?"

"I—" Spock starts, stops and really _does_ look uncomfortable. "I believe I hear Nyota in the kitchen. Excuse me."

"I hear her too," Leonard agrees, grinning so hard his face feels like it might split in two. "She's laughin'."

"_Liar._"

The word is softly spoken but it freezes the room like a wave of frigid air, killing Leonard's good humor.

"Vulcans aren't supposed to lie," accuses Jim. A muscle in his cheek jumps. "What has he told you, Spock?"

Spock looks less than pleased to be called a liar. His eyebrows come down like thunderclouds. Prudently, Leonard takes a step sideways to leave the other two men to their face-off.

"Your concern is not necessary, Jim."

"Oh? Bones has a habit of making me into a cause, and I don't think you're wise enough to turn him down," counters Kirk. "Tell me what he said. Consider that an order."

"You cannot give orders, Commander."

The blow is low enough to make Leonard flinch. Jim's temporary reinstatement as captain died with Marcus, and although there's been plenty of rumors about whether or not Jim will be given back his rank, nothing official has been said or done. Personally Leonard can't think of Jim as less than a captain, especially after Jim laid it all on the line, so he continues to use the title. He has to hope Starfleet wouldn't be so foolish to keep a man like James T. Kirk out of the captain's chair. Jim is brash, reckless sometimes, but it's trial-by-fire where he shines brightest.

"Spock," Jim warns.

Spock will not be swayed. He turns for the kitchen, stiff-backed and armed with silence, and walks away.

Jim's shoulders draw into a tight line as he focuses on an obscure spot on the far wall. He must be counting to ten. Leonard taught him that, said it was an easier way to manage anger than most. He can't help but feel bad about putting Jim and Spock at odds with each other.

"Jim, don't be angry with him."

Jim's attention snaps to Leonard. "I'm angry at _you!_ Don't think I don't know why you're here, Bones."

Feeling defensive, Leonard crosses his arms. "Yeah, so? Contrary to what you seem to think, I can do whatever the hell I want."

"Not about this!"

"This what?" Leonard challenges, his temper sparking. "This as in trying to keep you out of prison? Or worse yet, getting executed by the Klingon High Council?"

"I didn't ask for your help!"

He bellows right back, "You don't have to! I'm your _friend_, Jim!"

Jim laughs. The sound is short and bitter—not something Leonard has heard from Jim often in the past. It makes his stomach sink to hear it now.

Jim turns away, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. His rejoinder is flat: "Sometimes being friends is worse than being enemies. Now I get why you hate being stuck with me."

What? If that is an explanation of some kind, it flies right over Leonard's head. "Kid, you're not making any sense."

"One day," Jim says, not looking at him, "you're going to call me kid and I am going to hit you for it."

Leonard is taken aback. He doesn't know what to say. His chest hurts as if Jim has already punched him.

Nyota enters the living area, closely followed by Spock. Her look in her eyes is cool, and there are faint lines at the corners of her mouth. Damn, thinks Leonard. Of course those two were eavesdropping. He swallows, feeling a little ashamed.

Like Nyota, Spock doesn't say anything, although his gaze tracks slowly from Leonard to Jim. He takes a step in Jim's direction but is intercepted when Nyota hooks her arm through Spock's and swings them into opposite positions with one deft pivot of her bodyweight. The woman reaches up and lays a hand against the Vulcan's cheek, smiles, then breaks their physical contact to go to Jim. Spock is left facing Leonard. His blink could be a product of his disorientation.

Leonard blinks back.

No one is as tough as Nyota Uhura. This Leonard decides as he watches her latch onto Jim's forearm, give the man a vicious-looking view of her teeth, and basically strong-arm Jim across the room to a set of double balcony doors. Jim, for his part, resists only a nanosecond before he looks genuinely terrified. She must be using her nails.

He clears his throat once Kirk and Uhura are gone from sight. Spock does not take that as a cue to talk.

Leonard rolls his eyes. Of course. He gets the stoic one. "Look, I think you're supposed to say something to make me feel better." He lifts his eyebrows at the Vulcan's continued silence. "Like friendly counsel?"

Spock moves, then, locking his hands behind his back. "I was nominated for this position, Doctor. I did not volunteer."

Thinning his mouth, he flaps a hand of dismissal at Spock and drops down on the couch. "Fine, I get it. Stuck with the overly emotional human, whatever." Leonard rubs at a phantom ache in his left kneecap. "I guess this 'visit' was a bust. Jim hates me."

"He could not."

Leonard glances up at the Vulcan. "You mean doesn't."

"Negative. He could not hate you. When your only purpose is to help him, Jim should not hate you. It is illogical."

"Hate isn't logical, Spock. People hate other people for the stupidest reasons." His gaze drops to his hand on his knee. "And sometimes they hate for the best of intentions too."

"I understand your argument, Doctor, and I understand why you perceive Jim is not amendable to your efforts. In fact, it is evident he does not want protection. However, I cannot believe he would negate every positive association with you when he knows you cannot stand aside in the face of another's mistreatment, as that action goes against your very nature."

Leonard is somewhat startled that Spock would think that about him, much less say it. "Don't make me out to be a saint, Spock," he says, feeling uncomfortable.

"I would attempt no such thing" comes the dry reply. "A saint would be an individual recognized as having an exceptional degree of virtue. Your virtue I often question."

That should make him mad but it doesn't. On principle, because it's Spock, Leonard tones down a full-blown laugh to a chuckle but he does say approvingly, "Sometimes you can get my goat real good, but other times I wonder if you're a comedian in disguise and not a pointy-eared computer."

"Vulcans do not have a sense of humor, Doctor."

"Good thing you're only half-Vulcan, then."

Spock opens his mouth to respond, and Leonard sits up in anticipation of the counter-barb, only to be disappointed when Spock's mouth clicks shut again. Jim and Nyota step through the balcony doors.

Leonard twists around to get a good look at Jim and is relieved to see some of the tension has left his friend. A tiny hope flares within him that they can hold a conversation without it turning into a yelling match.

But Jim walks by the couch, not hurried but not stopping to acknowledge him either. He goes to the front door. Nyota stops Leonard from saying anything with a subtle shake of her head. In the next moment, Jim is gone.

"Well..." Leonard says, staring worriedly at the empty doorway and the lack of Jim, "I don't know if that's good or bad."

"Good," supplies Nyota readily. When she gives him her full regard, though, she is frowning. "What was the point in lying to him, Leonard?"

Leonard contemplates lying to her, too.

"Don't try it with me," Nyota warns him in a no-nonsense voice, placing her hands on her hips. "Don't deflect either," she adds.

"I wouldn't dream of it, darlin'."

"You would. Believe me, I know because you're male and even Spock thinks he's good at it. He's not."

It is probably better Spock considers himself to be more Vulcan than human. Otherwise he'd be wilting right about now. Leonard wisely decides to answer her question honestly: "If I kept lying, I'd make him angrier and angrier. You've seen how Jim gets when he's truly pissed."

"Silent."

"Exactly," Leonard confirms. "Then he wouldn't ask questions about the plan."

Nyota looks between Spock and Leonard, finally settling on narrowing her eyes at the Vulcan. "There's a plan?"

"Affirmative. I attempted to tell you of it but Jim's arrival delayed my intention."

"Then tell me now, Spock, and don't leave any parts out."

Times like this Leonard appreciates being a bachelor. Until, that is, Spock demurs, "Doctor McCoy would explain it best."

"You—" Leonard starts to curse but quiets under Nyota's gaze. "...All right. The long and short of it is: HQ might be planning to throw Jim to the wolves, said wolves being Klingons, and Spock and I are gonna head them off at the pass."

"How?" Uhura wants to know.

"Uh," he cuts a glance at Spock, "we don't have all the details worked out but we're thinking we go public with Jim's death."

"...And then Command is going to strip out your intestines and string you up by them," supplies Nyota. At Spock's faintly ill look, she amends, "Figuratively speaking."

"That's very possible," agrees Leonard. "Breaking silence is a career-killing move." He says to Spock, "I still think it's our best shot but I don't want you to waste those years of service you've put in, Spock. I'll do it myself. It's not collusion if I look like I'm the only one who's lost his mind."

"That's sweet, Leonard," Nyota says. "You're an idiot."

Spock quirks his brows in a way that means he echoes the sentiment. Leonard figures it's not worth arguing with them because he's seen what a stubborn team they can make. That trader the _Enterprise_ intercepted a few months before Nibiru, Harry Mudd, could attest to that fact. Somewhere, Leonard has the footage of the little man cowering and blubbering under the combined glare of Uhura and Spock.

He stands up and pops his shoulder joints. "Well, it's late for old folks like me." He eyes the Vulcan. "Maybe I can stop by your office this week?"

"Yes. I will send you my schedule."

"I can look up reporters," Nyota offers. "We'll want someone who won't try to turn around and sell this right back to Starfleet."

Leonard feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. "Thank you. And thanks from Jim too. I can say that on his behalf because I live with him and, believe me, he'd be thankful if his head wasn't so far up his ass."

"I think it very fascinating, Dr. McCoy, that you can defend and insult a person in the same breath."

"That's because normally you only hear insults from me, you green-blooded hobgoblin."

"If you believe referring to the color of my blood insults me, you are mistaken."

"I said hobgoblin, too!"

With a roll of her eyes, Nyota turns away.

"I researched the term. Hobgoblin was referenced most commonly in conjunction with Terran folktales, in particular those stories concerning a host of fantastical creatures known as the Seelie Court. It was playwright and poet William Shakespeare who popularized 'hobgoblin' in his late sixteenth-century work called _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, wherein a character named Puck—"

"You have a point, Spock?" Leonard interrupts.

Spock pauses to tilt his head slightly. "Yes, always."

"Then get to it!"

"I fail to see why you are agitated, Doctor."

Leonard throws up his hands. "My god, Nyota, how do you stand it?"

But Nyota is nowhere to be seen. She, apparently, has already given up on them. Leonard points to the door, declaring, "Leaving now!"

Spock follows him to the door. "If you wish, I can forward you my report on the troublesome but often harmless meddling of the sprite Puck. Perhaps then you will see why to refer to me as a hobgoblin—"

Leonard makes certain to shut the door in Spock's face. It irritates him to think he will have to come up with a new insult.

That blasted Vulcan!

[~~~]

Jim doesn't come home. Leonard has to quell the beginnings of worry (after all Kirk is an adult and, though it could be argued otherwise in Leonard's opinion, a competent one), and by late evening has prepared more food than one person can eat. It isn't until he catches himself in a one-sided conversation with Dude while he's having dinner alone on the couch that he realizes Jim's absence is something he can't ignore.

Leonard drops his half-consumed bowl of pasta to the coffee table with a pained expression, no longer hungry. "I can't believe he gets to me like this. The problem is I care too damn much—and boy is that a riot! No way in hell I signed my godforsaken soul away to Starfleet to chase after some kid through the galaxy." His jaw works with agitation for a few seconds. "Where is he?"

In the tank, Dude just looks at him.

"You're a real fucking help, you little monster."

Dude rolls one round black eye in the direction of a tiny huddle of fish and makes a slow, floating turn to observe the patterns of their movements.

"Don't you dare," Leonard warns him. "Those are your _cousins_."

Dude faces Leonard again to burp air bubbles at him.

Not expecting that response, or any response as a matter of fact, Leonard has to sit up from his slouch against the couch cushions. "Can you... can you understand me?" he asks, even though the question seems silly.

When the fish does nothing, Leonard approaches the tank and bends to eye-level with Jim's pet. Dude presses his fangs against the glass.

"O-kay," he says slowly. "Is this a trick to get me to stick my finger in the water? Because I'm not stupid, Dude. I've seen what you do to flesh."

Dude gamely flicks his tailfin back and forth.

"That's what I thought," mutters Leonard, pulling back. "Sorry, I think I'll pass on the cuddles. You'll just have to wait until my dumber half comes back."

The fish watches Leonard cross to the couch and coffee table to gather his bowl and silverware then start for the kitchen. The next time Leonard glances over his shoulder, Dude has disappeared in a cloud of bloody water and the other fish in the tank have fled for their lives: cowered behind bright-colored coral, hid within the various sea anemones, or buried themselves under a pile of pebbles at the bottom of the tank.

He shakes his head. If anything, Jim needs to return for the sake of Dude's poor relatives. He has the sneaking suspicion Dude plans to be a true terror until his one and only friend is back again. That is how Jim affects those around him, whether they be misfit, neurotic, or just plain psychotic.

And Leonard—well, Leonard misses his roommate a little, too.

[~~~]

The routine Leonard has come to expect has utterly failed him. Jim does not return the next day at his normal time. A minute later, Leonard is on the phone to Jim's temporarily appointed commanding officer at Headquarters.

The man is baffled to hear from Leonard. "Dr. McCoy, Kirk is only required to report in to me twice a week."

Leonard sways, feeling like the solid ground under his feet has suddenly betrayed him. He leans against the nearest wall. "I don't understand, sir. I thought he was there _every day_. If he isn't... then where does he go?"

"I don't ask."

Leonard bites back, _Well, Pike would have_. Criticizing the man won't get him answers. "Can you hazard a guess?"

There is a beat of silence from the other end. "I could. I will, I suppose, but only out of respect for Admiral Pike. I wish I could say Commander Kirk and I get along but our interactions are strictly formal. I know I'm no replacement for the person he looked up to, nor do I want to be, but sometimes... I have to wonder if Kirk is the same whippersnapper Chris defended so vehemently."

It's hard not to say anything to that, because Leonard shares the same concern. "Then you have some idea of where he might be."

A sigh funnels through the vid-less comm. "In his will, Pike left half of his estate to various charities and the rest to Kirk. That includes his home here in San Fran." The man's voice lowers, perhaps out of mutual mourning. "It can be very difficult to let go of the dead, and for some, more so than most. If I were in Kirk's shoes right now, I know where I'd be."

Leonard is struck silent.

"Dr. McCoy?"

_Breathe, Leonard_, he reminds himself. "Thanks." The word comes out as a croak. "Thank you, sir. The address—"

"Sending it now." Before they sign off, Leonard is told, "Good luck."

He'll need it, he thinks. Leonard rubs at his chest, at the ache there.

Jim has somewhere else to live.

[~~~]

Jim answers the door on the fifth insistent buzz. Wordlessly, he steps aside to let Leonard inside the condominium. Jim's Starfleet greys are wrinkled, like they'd been slept in.

Leonard figures he must look a sight himself. He hadn't sleep at all the second night of Jim's absence, caught between straining for noise of Jim's return to the apartment and berating himself for being unhappy that Jim had another place to go. Since Leonard has had so much to complain about concerning his roommate, he ought to be ecstatic at the thought of having his home to himself again.

He wets his lips and sucks in a quiet breath, doing a slow survey of Pike's—no, _Jim's_—living room. It's spacious. The furniture isn't new but it looks well-kept. Through a wide window, there is a nice view of the bay. The neighborhood seems quiet and safe; Leonard knows because he prowled through it for two hours before gathering his courage to come into this high-rise.

Now that he's here, watching Jim stand awkwardly in the middle of the room and refuse to look anywhere but at his shoes, everything makes perfect sense. Leonard's breath catches with the clarity of it.

He ambles to a couch, gingerly sits on its edge and says bluntly, "You have a house."

Jim doesn't argue the semantics with him, just nods.

Leonard briefly closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. "That thing we don't talk about, Jim? I think it's time we did."

Jim shrugs. As he speaks, his voice cracks like he hasn't spoken in a long time. "When I tried to talk about it at the hospital, your orders were pretty explicit. You said don't bring the subject up again."

Leonard grips his knees, throat working. "I don't mean your death, Jim. I mean... Pike's."

A blow to the face might have been kinder, considering the pain that crosses Jim's face and lingers there, aging him through grief. "No," he tells Leonard, voice flat and full of warning. "We're not talking about him."

If only that were an option, thinks Leonard. He backtracks a little as he begins to speak, hoping to lessen Jim's building anxiety by helping Jim understand why they have to discuss the dead commander. "I screwed up," he says. "I thought I knew why you weren't yourself. I thought—like the fool I am—that _dying_ would have left you a little shaken. That's my mistake, Jim, because when it matters most, I always forget you aren't like the rest of us." At Jim's expression, he clarifies, "You're _stronger_."

"Bones."

"No, shut up and let me say this." He has to fight for his next breath because the air in the room seems be growing thin. "So it's not you dying. To you, that's just a thing you had to do and something you might have to do again. If I'd been smart, I would have wrangled the psychologists' reports outta somebody and read that and realized the truth a lot sooner. I'm sorry I wasted our time by assuming you were hurting from something that I had no experience with."

Leonard falls silent for a moment, comes to a decision and stands up. Jim doesn't turn him away when he closes the distance between them.

"Jim, the thing about death is... it's always the worst when it happens to someone you love."

"I know," Jim responds, words forced, as if he doesn't trust himself to speak.

Leonard shakes his head. "You may think I don't understand, but I do. Pike meant so much to you, not just because he believed in you but because he treated you like a son, and in turn you saw him as a father."

"Don't. Bones, don't."

"I'm not trying to hurt you by bringing this up. I'm telling you you aren't alone. If it was senseless for Pike to die, for such a good fucking man to die, then to me you're my Pike." Leonard swallows hard. "I know why you did what you did, Jim, but everything that happened... it was all so senseless. You keep wondering over and over why did Khan have to take his revenge? Why didn't you figure out his plan of attack fast enough? Why did you fuck up on Nibiru and put Pike in the position of being in that room in the first place?" His voice drops, wobbles precariously. "So many fuckin' why's. Why did the ship have to fail, and why did you have to be the one to give his life to save it? Why didn't you want me there?"

Jim closes his eyes but it doesn't stop the tears from pooling at their corners. "Because of _that_—that look on your face, Bones. I was too much of a coward to watch you have your heart ripped out." Tilting his face downward, he opens his eyes and wipes away the evidence of his emotion with the back of his wrist.

Leonard has to look away too. "You're not alone," he repeats. "You may think I'm the lucky one who gets the second chance—but sometimes," his voice drops close to a whisper, "I don't think I'll ever stop grieving for my friend in the body bag. I... I really loved that bastard."

Jim reaches out to hold onto him, one hand bracketing each arm as if he expects Leonard to walk away. "Bones, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"We're both of us sorry, Jim. So sorry we don't even know how to stop being sorry."

"I mean it."

"I know you do. That's why I'm telling you on behalf of myself and on behalf of a man who wouldn't want you to let his death ruin you to stop beating yourself up over what's done. He made you his First Officer so I have to think he wanted you to live and learn from your mistakes and achieve that greatness he saw ahead of you. Isn't that true?"

"I don't know."

Leonard grabs Jim's arms, mirroring the way Jim holds him. "Yes, you do," he says forcefully. "You know what Pike would have wanted, Jim."

They match stares until Jim swallows and nods. "This place," Jim says, if slightly roughly. "He wanted me to have his place."

Fondness swells within Leonard at the typical part-admission, part-deflection. "I think more to the point, he wanted to look out for you even in death. So," Leonard asks, easing back, "are you going to live here?"

But Jim shakes his head. "I don't—not yet, Bones."

His "Why?" isn't demanding, just gentle.

"Because I—" Jim looks around them, at the picture frames on the walls, the closed cabinets and the navy-blue jacket left lying over the back of a chair. "—feel him here, and I'm not ready to, to..."

"Face him yet," Leonard supplies, understanding. "Okay. That's okay because, Jim, I think you will be ready, someday."

"Will I?" Jim questions, sounding as raw as he looks.

"Trust me," murmurs Leonard, echoing the way those words have always been said to him by Jim.

That seems to be enough for his friend. They let go of each other. Jim sucks in a breath that lifts his shoulders then releases it.

Leonard's heart aches, but the ache is finally bearable. He asks, "Will you come home?"

"If you want me to."

"I guess I can stand it," Leonard replies. That draws a faint quirk to Jim's mouth. "I think you'd better anyway. Dude is sick."

Jim seems more like himself as the defeat seeps out of his stance. "You wouldn't let him get sick, Bones."

Leonard snorts. "Like I can stop him from spinning in circles and eating the greenery. I'm a doctor, not a fish nanny."

Jim's focus sharpens. "Why isn't he eating the other fish?" the man all but demands.

Leonard starts for the door. "How the hell should I know? Maybe Dude's developed a conscience since you abandoned him."

"I didn't abandon him!" argues Kirk, following closely on Leonard's heels. "I would never abandon Dude, Bones, he needs me. We have a special bond. Didn't I tell you I think he's communicating to me through my dreams?"

"Fine, then. When you get around to moving out, you can take him and his entire family with you. Good riddance to the lot!"

"Does that lot include me?"

Leonard cuts a look at Jim. "Depends. Are you going to start doing the dishes?"

Jim wrinkles his nose, proceeds to close the door and to engage its lock, and points out instead, "If you had a dog, he could lick them clean. We should get a puppy, Bones."

"I already have a puppy. Its name is James Tiberius. Jimmy T for short. Sadly, I am not entirely sure it's house-broken yet."

"_Hey_," his friend says with urgency, darting nervous glances at the other doors in the hallway. "That was one time, I was drunk. And you said you didn't remember!" Jim cries one second later, indignant.

"I forget nothing, kid—especially when it involves pee on my carpet."

"I cleaned it up!"

Leonard snaps back, "Yeah, with my _medical scrubs_, you noodle-brain!" They step into the elevator together. "Turns out, people were giving me a ten-foot berth because I STUNK LIKE PEE. Stop, stop _laughing_, asshole. It isn't funny! I had a meeting with my superior that day!"

Jim appears unable to stop. He starts repeatedly smacking his hand against the elevator door, gasping and choking between belly laughs. Leonard smiles over Jim's bowed head and shaking shoulders and has an entirely un-supernatural premonition things are going to work out just fine.

...So long as he and Spock can be brilliant and ultra-sneaky. And cooperative with one another. Damn.

Jim straightens, laughter dying to a chuckle, and throws an arm around Leonard's shoulders. Leonard sighs, but it's a good sigh, and decides not to worry for the remainder of the day. Jim, despite looking less devastated than he did earlier, deserves the undivided attention while Leonard has it to give.

[~~~]

Two weeks later...

"_But how did he survive?_" the interviewer asks, looking very shocked.

"It was…"

Spock quiets for a split second, although this answer is a rehearsed one. Leonard imagines it's still difficult for Spock to say.

"Basically a miracle," he finishes in the Vulcan's stead. "The miracle of all miracles."

The interviewer looks skeptical. Leonard can't blame her since she's probably having visions of Jim with his face fried off—which isn't far from the mark. Radiation does cook the inside of the body and turn it into an organ soup. He ruthlessly forces down the emotion that thought conjures and tries to steer the conversation toward his and Spock's endgame.

"We're lucky to have Jim still with us. But more than that, we were blessed on that fateful day because _of_ him. Imagine you're a bird with both your wings broken, falling out of the sky. Who saves you when you can't save yourself? Jim did that for us. I know Commander Spock and I wouldn't be sitting in these chairs today if it weren't for Jim. I know that the tragedy caused by John Harrison's acts of terrorism—" The media doesn't call him Khan, doesn't in fact know John Harrison and Khan Noonien Singh are the same man, and all who are privy to that fact have been sworn to secrecy for the sake of the Federation and made liable if they don't keep it. "—would have been that much more tragic. Kirk is a savior."

"Like his father," the woman says, jotting something down on her padd.

"Right," Leonard agrees. "We want him known for what he is. There's a lot of brave officers in the 'Fleet but we're not all created equal. Captain James T. Kirk is one of the best of us. He proved it as a cadet, and he's proved as a commanding officer."

"Captain?" she repeats, looking up sharply. Leonard almost curses out loud, having forgotten for a second she might have done her research before their scheduled chat.

But Spock seems entirely unruffled when he affirms, "Captain."

No one, Leonard believes, could disbelieve a voice filled with that much conviction. He allows himself a small smile. The proverbial shit is going to hit the fan when this goes public because they've not only dared to give Jim back his hero status but given him back his rank too. Leonard finds he rather looks forward to that shit-show.

Studying his face, the reporter remarks, "You seem happy, Dr. McCoy."

"Only because I'm glad to finally get this off my chest. Spock—_Commander_ Spock and I agree that there isn't really a proper way to thank Jim. I mean, I thought about sending a card with one of those funny anecdotes like 'thanks for your sacrifice, it means a _grave_ deal to us'."

Spock lifts an eyebrow as if to ask _why are your jokes always so horrendously inappropriate?_ The woman opposite them catches and swallows her laugh but her eyes are twinkling.

Leonard continues. "But that seemed kind of rude, so we're asking you to help us. Would you please?" He drawls the last word, honey-like.

She nods then blushes to match her red blouse.

Next to Leonard, Spock unfolds his hands, which is his way of clearing his throat to draw attention. "Ms. Kalomi, you may also wish to include in your article that I extend a formal thank you on behalf of the Vulcan High Council and Ambassadors Sarek and Selek. Once the news is brought to better public awareness, of course, they will issue official statements on the matter."

"Ah," murmurs their female companion. "There's some backing to this, then. Should I ask where Starfleet stands?"

Spock and Leonard share a look. "I believe they'll answer that for themselves... eventually," Leonard tells her.

She nods. "I thought as much." She tucks away her padd and stands. Leonard and Spock do the same. "It's nice to meet you both, officially. Please know I will do my best. My sister Leila was aboard the _Enterprise_ when Nero attacked, so I have a personal bias when it comes to Kirk's heroics." She smiles. "Yet somehow I believe you already knew that."

The inclination of Spock's head is subtle, though he says aloud, "It was an article you wrote of our Captain after the Narada incident which factored heavily into our final decision to approach you versus other candidates, Ms. Kalomi."

"I'm flattered, Commander."

Leonard finds it hilarious that Spock, despite his relationship with Nyota, still doesn't know how to respond to a woman when she shows interest in him. He takes pity on the poor Vulcan and reaches for the reporter's hand, dropping a gentlemanly kiss to the back of it.

"It's been a pleasure, darlin'."

"Hm," the woman says when she has her hand back, "I have to say... I really like both of you. It would be hard to choose."

The tips of Spock's ears flush green.

Leonard grins. "What's there to think about? Humans are vastly superior to Vulcans when it comes to romance." He winks.

"Doctor," Spock objects, "that statement is highly illogical."

"And just amongst humans," continues Leonard with a hint of glee, "doctors are the most romantic. It's because we're skilled with our hands."

Spock pivots in a way that forces Leonard to move, saying abruptly, "Thank you for your time, Madam. Please contact me with the date of the article's release. Dr. McCoy, I believe we have another engagement to which we shall be late if we do not leave in precisely ten seconds." He corrals Leonard towards the exit without, amazingly, sacrificing his dignity.

Leonard hears laughter in their wake and feels close to laughing himself. Once he and Spock are on the open street of downtown San Francisco, Leonard comments, "I didn't think Vulcans approved of being rude."

"While I do not often rely upon emotions, I do have them, Doctor. Perhaps you would label my interruption of your hapless human flirting as rude, but it is pity I felt for that woman and pity which spurred me to spare her from your annoying and particularly self-absorbed habit of 'wind-bagging', as Mr. Scott would have labeled it."

"I think you're confusing me with Jim."

"I think," counters Spock, lifting a hand to hail an empty cab, "there are moments when the difference between the two of you is negligible."

"Ouch," Leonard says, not really offended at all. He climbs into the hover car after Spock. "Does this mean our truce is at its end?"

Spock gives him a frank stare from the far side of the cab (which isn't far at all but Leonard isn't going to spoil the illusion). "We had success in a mutual endeavor today. I cannot say I am dissatisfied. If one course has a favorable outcome and projects more favorable outcomes in the near future, it is logical to continue to pursue that course."

"So," Leonard translates, "you're not opposed to being friends."

Spock doesn't bat an eye.

"Friends it is, then," Leonard agrees and sits back in his seat with a smile playing about his mouth.

Oddly enough, the following silence in the cab feels comfortable. When the automated driver pilots down the feeder the circles the outskirts of the Academy, Spock breaks the silence by stating, out of the blue, "I will continue to address you as Dr. McCoy."

"Yup," says Leonard, "and you're still 'that hobgoblin'. Nobody need know anything."

"In particular, not the Captain."

"Oh, especially not that monkey-head. He'll be dancing around for days." Leonard pauses. "If you want, we can pinky-swear or slice open our hands and take a blood oath."

"Either action will be quite unnecessary." Spock does not sound impressed by them and maybe a tad disgusted.

Leonard thinks for a moment then lifts his hand, trying his best to will his fingers in the proper position. A little fumbling later, he's managed it. He holds his hand up to the light filtering through the front windshield of the cab and admires the Vulcan salutation.

"Then may we live long and prosper, Spock. For Jim."

From a stillness that seems almost reverent, Spock's reaction comes slowly: a raising of his hand as well, fingers splayed to match Leonard's.

"Yes," the Vulcan echoes his human companion, "may we—for Jim."

_-Fini_


End file.
